


what does the fox say

by leias_left_hair_bun



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, I love them all, also fox points a knife at his brother at one point so be warned, and gree being his usual nerd self, bly being a cutie, featuring fox being angsty, wolffe being obnoxious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26554300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leias_left_hair_bun/pseuds/leias_left_hair_bun
Summary: ct-1010 is tired of being called “ten-ten”, but he’s having trouble finding a name of his own.
Comments: 24
Kudos: 73





	what does the fox say

CT-1010 poked at the protein on his tray and sighed. All around him, his brothers were gulping down their own portions as quickly as they could before their next block of training began, and CT-1010 knew he should do the same. If he didn’t, his body wouldn’t have the energy it needed to push through the rest of the day’s exercises. But today, he was finding it harder than usual to find the motivation to swallow the tasteless stuff down.

“You okay, ten-ten?”

CT-1010 looked up to see Bly staring at him from across the table, worry written on his face.

“I’m fine.” _Poke_. “I just don’t see why they make us use a knife and fork to eat this stuff. It’s the same thing as the ration cubes, why not just give us those?”

Bly grinned. “Maybe they want us to learn table manners so we can rub elbows with the fancy folk on Coruscant.”

“Yeah, right.” CT-1010 rolled his eyes. “Like a nat-born would invite one of us to dinner." _Poke_.

“They wouldn’t invite Wolffe, anyways. He’s got the worst manners of all of us,” Bly said, furrowing his brow again as he watched CT-1010 continue to not eat his meal. “Seriously, what’s gotten into you? You have to eat that or they’ll take you to the medlab.”

CT-1010 glared at his well-meaning brother. “Fine.” 

Picking up his knife, he deftly piled the entire portion onto his fork and shoved it into his mouth with difficulty, relishing the horror in Bly’s eyes.

“Okay, that’s disgusting.” Bly grimaced as CT-1010 gulped noisily. “You’re officially worse than Wolffe.”

“One gare,” CT-1010 said around the food still in his mouth.

“Huh?”

CT-1010 gulped again. “I don’t _care_.”

Much to his annoyance, Bly just laughed. 

“You should care; we’ll start calling you “shovel” if you keep that up.”

That was all the spark CT-1010 needed to explode. Throwing a glance at the supervising trainers to make sure they weren’t watching, he grabbed his knife and pointed it at the other cadet. Bly threw himself backwards in his chair on instinct, his eyes going wide.

“Don’t _ever_ call me that! I’ll pick my own name and - and until I do, I don’t need one from _you_.”

CT-1010 couldn’t ignore the sick feeling that bubbled up in him as he watched Bly’s lip tremble. The normally cheerful boy slumped in his seat, avoiding CT-1010’s eyes.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Dropping the dull blade, CT-1010 sighed miserably. He couldn’t _wait_ for the night cycle to come. All he wanted to do was curl up by himself in his dark, quiet pod and forget about his troubles.

______________________________

Except that he couldn’t. As soon as the order was given for lights out, CT-1010 closed his pod and shut his eyes, expecting to fall asleep instantly. The intense physical exercises he completed each day - not to mention the mentally taxing lessons and simulations - usually wore him out to the point that he couldn’t stay awake if he tried. But now, as he listened to the faint sounds of his brothers’ breathing, his mind stayed stubbornly alert.

Gree, Bly, Kote, Colt, Bacara, Neyo, Doom, Wolffe - he could identify their individual breathing patterns and put a name to them. 

A name.

CT-1010 sighed and wiggled his leg in a vain attempt to stretch a little bit. Before this week, he’d been the only one of his batch without a name. Now he was the only one of his squad, too. There were plenty of other _vode_ who hadn’t found or been given a name yet, he knew, but those were the regular clones, the ones who were designed and taught to follow, not lead. His duty would be to lead. And so, even though he wasn’t yet six, he needed to find a name for the others to know him by.

Besides which, he thought dryly, his designation was a mouthful. His brothers had long ago shortened it to “ten-ten”, but that was starting to sound dangerously close to an actual name, and he did _not_ want it to stick. But what to choose?

Kote had been the first to pick his name. It was no surprise to any of his brothers that he had chosen something Mando’a, not with the way he idolized Fett and the ARC troopers. He’d stood by his decision even when Alpha-17 had mocked him for it, insisting that he was going to achieve glory once he got onto the field.

After that, the others had quickly followed suit and chosen or bestowed names upon each other with a kind of excited pride that CT-1010 longed to experience. It hadn’t been unbearable, though, until CT-3636 had come back from a simulation looking strangely older and announced that his name was Wolffe. CT-1010 had hung around for a few minutes as the rest of his squad crowded around Wolffe and howled enthusiastically, but he slunk away after Colt shouted, “Hey, ten-ten, looks like you’re in last place!”

CT-1010 did not like being last. But what could he do? Where the other vode seemed to know themselves, CT-1010 still felt unsure, and he wasn’t going to settle for a name that didn’t fit. It was too important.  
______________________________

The next day, as CT-1010 poked tiredly at his portion again, he found himself wishing Bly would tease him like he had yesterday. Bly hadn’t said a word to him since the knife incident, and he hadn’t smiled, either. It just wasn’t normal. CT-1010 knew better than to chalk his sweetly-dispositioned brother’s silent treatment up to spite, either. The other cadet was sad, and CT-1010 was uncomfortably aware that it was his own fault.

Time to swallow his pride.

“Hey, Bly? Sorry I pulled my knife on you.”

“It’s okay.” Bly still didn’t look at him.

“No, it’s not,” CT-1010 said, trying desperately to think of something that would cheer his brother up. “Um - d’you want to trap Doom in the ‘fresher later?”

“Not really,” Bly said. He straightened suddenly and fixed CT-1010 with a determined stare. “I want to help you find your name, though.”

“Um.” CT-1010 shifted nervously. There was an uncannily knowing look in Bly’s eyes. “You don’t have to.”

“I know, but you’re acting - weird. You’ve hardly talked to us this week.” For the first time that day, Bly smiled. “Besides, you deserve a name, _vod_. It’s no fair that we all have one now and you don’t.”

CT-1010 didn’t know how to feel about that. Yeah, he’d like a name, but if he didn’t know himself well enough to choose one, how could his brothers? But Bly was smiling so eagerly now that CT-1010 didn’t feel like he could refuse. Not after yesterday.

“Okay, I guess.”

He found himself thinking that the look on Bly’s face was _almost_ worth it.  
______________________________

“Maybe something about cats? They’re quiet,” Gree said, flipping through his datapad again.

CT-1010 sighed and rolled over to face the ceiling. He really didn’t know why Bly had insisted on dragging his squadmates into this.

“I don’t like cats.”

Wolffe scoffed. “Please, you’ve never even seen a cat. Not outside of a datatape, anyways.”

“Well, I don’t like them,” CT-1010 insisted, scowling at his brother.

“Yeah, right, you just don’t like being called quiet,” Neyo said.

That hit a little too close to home for CT-1010’s comfort. Of course he didn’t like being known as the quiet one of the squad; commanders were supposed to be bold and inspiring. Not _quiet_.

“Quiet’s good,” Bly said sympathetically, reaching over to pat CT-1010 on the shoulder.

He jerked away irritably. Wolffe noticed and frowned at him.

“Hey, stop being so _gedin’la_. We’re trying to help you out here.”

CT-1010 knew his brother was right. He should appreciate what his _vode_ were doing for him. But -

“No one ever called _you_ quiet!”

“Well yeah, that’s ‘cause I’m not,” Wolffe said unhelpfully.

“Neither am I!” CT-1010 said, voice rising as he sat up.

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m _not_!”

Out of the corner of his eye, CT-1010 saw that Gree had abandoned his data pad to watch the chaos rapidly unfurling. “Maybe there’s a species that’s _really_ prone to anger,” he said thoughtfully.

CT-1010 did not like that either. At this point he knew he was being irrational, but he was running on no sleep and a lot of frustration. He jumped to his feet.

“I am _not quiet_ , Wolffe! Take it _back_!”

“Prove it,” Wolffe said, getting to his feet as well. “Howl louder than me and I’ll take it back.”

CT-1010 heard Colt groan quietly from somewhere behind him. “Not _again_ with the wolf howl thing.”

If Wolffe heard his brother, he ignored him. Throwing back his head, he howled. Loudly. CT-1010 bit his lip; he knew he couldn’t outdo that.

“I don’t have to howl to be loud,” he said defiantly.

Wolffe raised an eyebrow. Glaring at him, CT-1010 took a deep breath.

He _screamed_.

It felt good to let everything out. He ran out of breath and paused, panting triumphantly. Yeah, that felt good.

He screamed again.

Looking around, CT-1010 noticed, much to his glee, that his brothers were _finally_ staring at him with something like respect. Gree grabbed his datapad again as Wolffe sat down and started to laugh.

“Okay, okay, we get the point, _vod_ ,” Neyo said, starting to laugh as well. “We don’t want one of the trainers coming in here thinking you’re being murdered."

“Wait a minute - I’ve got it!” Gree waved his datapad in the air. “ _Fox_.”

CT-1010 looked over with interest. “What’s a fox?”

Bly peered over Gree’s shoulder. “They’re predators. It says here that most kinds of foxes scream to communicate with each other. And that they hunt and sleep by themselves, and are highly intelligent.” He held out the datapad to CT-1010. “Look, they’re really sleek, too, and a lot of them are this nice red color.”

CT-1010 looked at the screen thoughtfully. Predator was good, and so was intelligent. He did like red, and he did enjoy the time he got to himself at night.

“Fox,” he said carefully, testing the sound of the word. “It’s not bad."

“There you go!” Wolffe said. He caught CT-1010’s eye and smiled warmly. “It suits you, _vod_."

CT-1010 - Fox - smiled back. “It does, actually.” 

He looked around the room at his brothers, his heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “Thank you for my name, _vode_.”

_______Years later_______

Commander Fox sat at his desk, ostensibly doing paperwork. In reality, he was listening to the too-loud conversation between the two shinies outside his door.

“I’ve heard he’s called that ‘cause of how cunning he is,” one said.

“ _I've_ heard it’s because he knows how to charm the senators,” the other retorted.

Fox nearly snorted caf up his nose at that one. Charm senators? Not likely.

“Trying to figure out where the Commander’s name comes from?” That was Thorn’s voice, now. “Good luck, troopers. He won’t tell anyone.”

Setting the unpleasantly cool caf aside, Fox got up and strode to the door, flinging it open with maybe more of a flourish than was absolutely necessary. He stifled a chuckle at the looks of surprised embarrassment on the shinies’ faces. Thorn just grinned at him.

“I believe you have something better to do than stand around and discuss my name, men,” Fox said sternly.

The shinies saluted nervously and hurried out of sight. Thorn moved to follow them, but turned back to look curiously at the commander.

“How _did_ you get your name, sir?”

Fox shook his head, smiling beneath his bucket. “I can promise you, Thorn, you'll never guess.”

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: there are a lot of much more feasible explanations as to why fox is named “fox”, but this is my garbage headcanon and you can pry it out of my cold, dead hands (:


End file.
